


Drunk on You (And Alcohol)

by cadesama



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: F/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-27
Updated: 2014-12-27
Packaged: 2018-03-03 19:24:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2878457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cadesama/pseuds/cadesama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anakin and Padme are already drunk. Might as well screw.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drunk on You (And Alcohol)

"Why Senator," Anakin whispered, his breath hot against her skin, "I think you're drunk."

Padme bit back a laugh, eyes fluttering closed as his lips skimmed her jaw and then down. He sucked at her neck, long fingers coming up to stroke over her throat. She arched into the touch and he made a sound – pleased, wild – his kisses turning to bites.

She pushed as his shoulders, backing him up until he came to the long, low table in the middle of the apartment. And rather than change course, he simply stepped up onto it, lifting Padme by the waist to join him. His hands skimmed down her back, plucking at the crisscrossed ribbon holding her dress up.

"You could do something about that," she murmured.

Anakin smile glittered in the light of Coruscanti night as he stepped down from the table. His hands slid down to her hips, warm even through the thick material. He tilted his head back and she framed his face with her hands, enjoying being taller than him for once as they kissed.

The ribbon slid against her back as he pulled it loose with the Force. Padme shivered at the feeling. Anakin gave a low chuckle, breaking the kiss to concentrate. He wound the ribbon around her arm as he pulled it from the dress. It caught around her wrist, tugging for just a moment, before he let it drift slowly to the floor.

Padme followed it with her eyes. She might want it back later.

Only the Force held her dress up – a light touch, the way Anakin always used the Force with her. It was like nothing she'd ever experienced before him, electricity that he bound and held and stroked over her skin, a frisson of energy that never quite felt like anything at all, except when he pressed it inside her.

Padme caught her breath at the thought. She was getting ahead of herself.

She held her hand out and Anakin took it, helping her down from the table. She enjoyed that moment of courtly dignity just long enough to lull him and then shoved him away with both hands. He stumbled, tripping on his own feet to land on the apartment's long, wrap around sofa. Padme bunched her skirts in her hands, pulling them up high as she stalked over to him and straddled his lap.

He was hard against her, ridge of his cock straining the fabric of his trousers. She reached down with one hand, pushing aside her own underclothes, feeling the roughness of his pants as she ground down against him. Her breath hitched and she bit her lip, rocking her hips slowly.

Anakin's eyes were dark as he looked up at her, as drunk as she was, as aroused as she was. She ran her hand through his long hair, tugging on it sharply to pull his head back, and kissed him, tongue in his mouth, riding him through his clothes. 

"General, I believe you may be drunk as well," she said, voice gone almost breathless.

He waved a hand airily.

"Jedi don't get drunk."

It was all she could do to keep herself from collapsing on him in laughter. He gave her a sly grin and a wink. She knew him too well, knew the Jedi too well at this point. They were nearly as bad as politicians.

Anakin took her hips into his hands, stilling them as he leaned forward. The bodice of her dress meandered downward – impelled, in no small part, by the Force. His breath ghosted across her breasts, mouth open and hot as he sucked on her. His fingers traced circles on her thighs, teasing before one slipped between her legs.

"You're always so wet for me," he mumbled into her skin.

He rubbed his fingers between her folds languidly, only brushing against her clit. She wriggled against him and he paused in biting her nipple, looking up at her blearily.

"Ani," she said breathlessly. "I don't want to play tonight. I just – I just want you."

Padme moved her hands from where she'd ended up clutching his shoulders, undoing his belt. He helped her to shove his trousers down and then he was inside her, hard and thick and almost painfully large.

She groaned happily at the feeling of him stretching her, arching back and shifting against him, trying to take him deep.

"You're so big," she said. She was aware it was inane, that it didn't even sound dirty, just absurd and silly, but Anakin looked at her and she met his eyes, moving up and down on his cock. "And hard and it's all for me, isn't it?"

He nodded, staring at her with a stunned expression. He cupped the side of her face, thumb on her lip. She panted as she rode him, turning into his touch.

And as if he alone wasn't enough – he always was, his cock or his fingers or his mouth – he started to touch her with the Force. Along the nape of her neck and down her sides, then that odd twist of feeling on her clit to make her pant.

Padme threw her head back, legs quivering with the strain as she came. He didn't wait for her to finish coming down, toppling her over to press down into the couch, skirts a tangle around them both as he gripped her hips with two hands.

He groaned as thrust into her hard and deep, not slowing down. His touch in the Force moved from her clit, pushing inside her, hard as she wanted it to be. She scrabbled for purchase of his back, hands on the tunic he still wore, nails catching as she dug in deep. 

"Come for me," he said, words hot on her skin. "Come for me again, Padme."

He moved to kneel, holding her hips up as he fucked her, and she buried her face in the cushions, muffling the cries she couldn't hold back.

She shuddered as another orgasm swept over her and then she felt Anakin jerk, pulsing inside her. He was quivered under her touch as she ran her hands up and down his arms. She heard him swallow hard, getting his breath back and smiled foolishly to herself.

"Did you like that?" he asked, hand sliding up to cup her jaw and then into her hair.

Padme cracked her eyes back open to look at him. His chest was heaving, flush on his face from more than alcohol. She stretched her arms above her head and cocked an eyebrow at him. 

"It was very nice."

Anakin pulled a face and grumbled. She choked off a giggle at his complaints. She felt flush and warm and he was still inside her – she was content to stay this way all night and she was absolutely sure he could sense that in the Force.

"Ani," she said, tilting her head to catch his eye. She bit her lip. "Come here."

She beckoned with her hand, flapping it clumsily at him and he dipped his head, kissing her again. She sighed happily.

It was a very long, sloppy, drunk kiss before they were willing to admit to how tired they actually felt. Padme disengaged from the kiss, hand patting at Anakin fondly even while she pushed him away. Anakin pulled out of her and rearranged her skirts before wrapped his strong arms around her. The couch wasn't quite large enough for them to lay, side by side, but it would do.

She felt dizzy and wrecked, well fucked and too tired to move.

But then again – Padme sighted the ribbon from her dress on the floor. Anakin groused sleepily at her when she tried to reach for it, folding her arm back in under his embrace.

Perhaps tomorrow morning, she thought muzzily, and fell asleep with her cheek against his cheek, mouth open as she snored.


End file.
